


i really hate your smile

by citywalkers (midnight_reverie)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Ace!MC, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Asexual Character, Brief mentions of masturbation, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, I think?, Juzen, M/M, Mentions of boners, Pining, Rating is subject to change, Sexual Tension, barista!au, dont even ask pls, everybody ships juzen, gratitious use of the f-bomb, hes so fucking dram its not even funny, its just going to be a huge roller coaster of feelings, jaehee is so done, mentions of a hand fetish, possible jaehee x mc?, rated PG for Pretty Gay, seven is seven, so gay you'll get whiplash, yooseven, yoosung is precious and smol protect him, zen is a salty hipster, zen is ass deep in denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_reverie/pseuds/citywalkers
Summary: [barista!au]“Oh my god, I want to ram my dick against Jumin’s fingernails,” Hyun says aloud in moment of horrifying clarity. His sharpie, poised above the empty cup, falls from his grip and hits the ground with a clatter that rises above the noises of the café and is followed shortly by its corresponding plastic cup.From the other end of the shop, Seven spits out his water.//Alternatively: Hyun Ryu is a tired, broke college student who works late night shifts solo at the nearby coffee shop to make ends meet and Jumin is the mysterious rich stranger who likes to get his coffee at ungodly hours.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chocoaddict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoaddict/gifts).



> basically zen is a salty very angry hipster and jumin is very hot. Also everything is super cringeworthy kill me. 
> 
> also dedicating this chapter to my friend @chocoaddict, to whom i screamed to about this and basically. like. forced her to read? she made some edits as well bless her soul. also she writes really good fics so check her out pls
> 
> chapter warnings: implied masturbation, brief mentions of boners (you fucking signed up for this)

Zen hates Monday night shifts with a burning passion for three reasons. One, because he hates his job. Two, because he has to work from fucking eleven to 4 in the morning when all he wants to do is fucking sleep. Three, because nothing ever happens and it's boring as fuck.

He gives the room a quick once over. All the tables are empty save one, where a student is typing furiously on a laptop, an abandoned empty paper cup beside them. There are a few bits of debris scattered across two long tables, which he sweeps up easily.

He checks the clock. It is two am. Study groups, which make up the bulk of their Monday night demographic, typically leave by twelve, some lingering on the cusp of 1 am, but those occasions are few and in between. Those that remain are usually tired college students, and while the flow of customers hasn't quite halted yet (more like ceased into a pitiful crawl), he is quite thankful that it is them and not the loud, obnoxious study groups of midnight.

But by three am without fail, the coffee shop is completely empty. This pattern has been consistent enough for Zen to take note of it. Although Zen is not one to be superstitious, he suspects that there is witchcraft at work. He has even taken the liberty of conferring with his co workers about the phenomenon. None of them have been able to confirm the existence of this strange occurrence.

He hears the footfalls of somebody approaching the cash register, signaling a new customer, and he internally groans to himself. He barely has enough energy to register his newest customer's order. Luckily, he has a good memory and is able to recognize them from a week or two ago, so he jots their order down from memory. The customer meanders away, presumably to settle down at a table to wait.

As he works, he feels his eyelids start to droop and he pinches the vulnerable inner skin of his wrist to get himself out of his brief daze. He manages to finish the expresso order without falling asleep, somehow, and even manages a wan smile at the customer as they retrieve their order, which earns him...nothing. Absolutely nothing. He makes a face at the tip jar, which contains only a few sad coins. He resists the urge to shake it comically like a street peddler, just to freak out the customer, and leans against the wall, closing his eyes.

After a minute he peeks one eye open and he can hardly believe his eyes. The shop is completely empty.

He glances at the clock. It hangs tauntingly above the doorway, its ticking now audible in the near silence. 1:30 am.

There is a single half eaten pastry on one of the tables. Zen disposes of this with ease. He's pretty sure that there aren't going to be any more customers during his shift, but out of paranoia he decides not to sleep, even though he is tired as fuck. Instead, he lugs his massive biochem textbook from his backpack and some notes, all of which he spreads out on the counter after rearranging the appliances to make room. He drags a stool over to the counter and begins the tedious process of reviewing the material, occasionally making additional annotations where he sees fit.

He is slowly dying on the inside and literally all he wants is to fucking sleep, but he manages to keep himself awake with motivational pep talks and copious amounts of coffee that he's probably not supposed to be making but he does anyways because there is nobody there to catch him, and what his boss doesn't know can't hurt him, right? And yes, he's kind of addicted to coffee at this point and he really really shouldn't be encouraging that addiction but it's only one cup. So.

Zen is finishing his 4th double expresso when the next customer arrives. He thinks that there is some cruel symbolism in this, that he is drinking the very drink he hates because he needs it to stay awake, just like how he abhors his job yet he must keep on working in order to stay afloat. He feels like a teenaged version of Ernest Hemingway with his fedora and hipster scarf, threading together raw metaphors about the disparity of life whilst nursing a cup of coffee like Hemmingway would a bottle of alcohol. Or perhaps he would just chug it like a fucking baller. Maybe. He's way too tired for this. He opts to ignore this bit of sleep-induced philosophy in favour of catching his reflection on the metal counter. He looks fucking hot, he thinks, and winks at himself for good measure before chugging down the last few trickles of coffee from his cup.

When the doors burst open he can't help but flinch at the sound, and wince at the sudden cold blast of air that follows. Briefly, he hears the furious pattering of rain from outside, and he chances a glance at the display window. Indeed, it is pouring, the darkened clouds almost entirely obscuring the moon's light. He thinks he hears a clap of thunder but it is swiftly interrupted by the slam of the door.

There is a figure hunched in the doorway. They stand in place for a second, chest rising and falling heavily, before disposing of their coat and umbrella. Zen watches with subdued interest as the person takes off their coat. He notes their perfectly ironed Armani suit and polished leather shoes with a tinge of contempt. He can't distinguish any distinct details from his vantage point– he really should start wearing his glasses regularly but they're ugly as fuck and contact lenses are such a pain, honestly – but he can guess that the dude is wearing like a bajillion rings laden with jewels and gold. He's probably rolling in dough. Zen mentally flips them off.

Fucking Armani. What the hell is this dude doing in a corner coffee shop like this if they're wearing Armani at – he checks the time—2:30 am? Jesus fucking Christ. In a moment of pure spite and sleep deficit, he viciously hopes that the old dude is fat and ugly and all his rings wrap unflatteringly around his pudgy fingers, causing the fat to bulge between each ring. The mental image is enough to have him snickering. 

It turns out that the old dude isn't even old. Or ugly, or fat. In fact, they look around his age, maybe a few years older or younger, he can't quite tell. Disappointing, his facial features aren't all large jowls and double chins as he had spitefully imagined, but rather aristocratic and haughty. His features are sharp and angular, his cheekbones arched unfairly high and his nose sloping and upturned. His eyes are narrowed, predatory almost, and his mouth was turned into a spoilt pout.

He was...really hot, actually. Totally his type.

Shit.

The man raises an impatient eyebrow and that's pretty fucking hot too and holy shit did that mean he's just seen Zen checking him out. Oh shit. His cheeks flame an uncharismatic firetruck red and he glances down at the counter in an attempt to dispel the suffusion slowly crawling up his cheeks. But no. There are his hands. On the counter. There are no rings. And they are hella hot. Zen knows hands aren't supposed to be hot but holy fuck those slender fingers, the perfectly cut fingernails, that elegant bone structure and no, this is not happening, he does not have a hand fetish, and oh my god he is developing a hand fetish what is happening wait fuck are those gold cufflinks literally what HOLY SHIT ON A STICK DID HE SAY THAT OUT LOUD –

"Yeah. These are just 10 carat, though. Got them as a party favour."

"Just 10 carat?" Was this guy an ass or just oblivious? The former, probably. And what kind of fucking party gave out 10 carat gold cufflinks as party favours? He almost gags at the scent of douche.

(Also, why is his voice sexy. Like, all deep and raspy and shit. It's ear porn but also actual porn because he's standing, like, right there. Kind of? Not really? He's tired. But anyways that's all irrelevant. So.)

Zen struggles in coming up with a biting retort. In the end, he just settles with the customary "May I take your order?" which is kind of super lame because what else would he do, not take his order, but protocol is protocol so he just leaves it at that.

The man takes no heed of his awkwardness and just rattles off his order. Zen is grateful. He can't help but judge his order: a double espresso? That's it? Nothing fancy, like a vanilla frappe with extra low-fat whip or some shit? Honestly, what a dry lifestyle. Then again, Zen himself is a coffee-hater made dependent only by sheer necessity, so he lets this pass without comment and simply rings him up.

"Anything else?" he asks.

To his surprise, the man delivers an affirmative. "Actually, can I have a chocolate chip cookie frappe with an extra shot of caramel, no caffeine? And a sugar cookie as well."

"What size would you like for that frappe?"

"Ah...medium, please."

As he rings up the new purchases, he can't help but ask, "For a girl? " He wants to take it back immediately after he's said it, but there's no going back now. "That'll be 5000 won," he adds, as if that would somehow make things less awkward. (It doesn't.)

The man begins to dig in his pocket for his wallet. Weirdly enough, he answers. "Ah, yes, it's for my Elisabeth," he says.

Well. That...was pretty general. His relationship with Elisabeth could be purely platonic, right? The small rational part of him reminds him that it is highly unlikely that just friends get each other chocolate cookie frappes with an extra shot of caramel and sugar cookies at two in the morning. He ignores this part. "She...must be pretty important to you." he continues after asking for his name. "Since. You know. You're doing all," he waves his hands. He wants to slap himself very, very hard. But whatever. Nothing he can do now.

He finally procures his wallet and hands him a credit card. "Ah, I'm Jumin." (What an asshole name, Zen thinks spitefully.) "As for Elizabeth...She's the most important thing in my life," he says solemnly. "I love her more than anything else in the world." His eyes mist over. "My beautiful Elizabeth the third."

A serious relationship, huh. Zen can't help but feel a little bit bitter as he begins to prepare the drinks. He should've sniffed out the hetero immediately. And yet he hadn't. Is his gaydar broken? He bites his lip as he prepares the ingredients, turning over the possibility in his mind. He's pretty sexually active, right? He still has to use his gaydar regularly in order to get laid. Actually, when's the last time he's got laid? He struggles to remember. Was it last month? The month before that?

Also, should he really be thinking about this when Jumin is standing right by the counter, tapping his sinfully supple fingers absently and playing with his bottom lip? (seriously, hands are not hot. What the actual fuck is he thinking.)

The answer is no, definitely not.

But Jumin isn't moving from the counter and Zen's brain is sleep deprived and therefore incapable of sound judgement, so it isn't really his fault when he starts sneaking furtive glances at him from the corner of his eye as he prepares the order. Jumin is quite slim and fit looking; the suit fits him quite nicely in fact, although Zen finds comfort in the fact that he is probably fitter than him, although that is probably because Zen is a gym rat rather than any sort of shortcoming from the other man. His hair is annoyingly perfect; he had originally thought it was gelled but now, at a closer distance, he can't see any signs of hair gel. It's either that or he has a really good private hairdresser, which is actually not that impossible considering. His hands, again, are really beautiful. They are pianists hands, long and elegantly conjoined. Practically made for fingering.

And. Oh my god. Is Zen actually lusting after a straight guy. In a serious relationship. Has he really stooped that low. Does he even have standards anymore? Is Jumin even straight?

Well, yes. Probably. Definitely. Maybe. People can be bisexual too, okay.

Zen finishes making the two drinks with an uncomfortable ache in his pants and gives them to Jumin. It is in this moment that he is very grateful Jumin can't see anything with a counter between them. He almost considers writing his number on the cup but doesn't. As he hands over the drinks he briefly regrets it, but only a little bit because he's too tired to care. Jumin gives him a nod in thank you and, disappointingly, ignores the tip jar, which Zen even elbowed slightly in hopes that he would track the movement and see the jar. As he puts on his raincoat and retrieves his umbrella, Zen is absolutely certain that he sees Jumin totally not on accident flash his cufflinks three consecutive times. 

Zen hates him so, so much. But he also kind of has a boner. So, ignoring the twinge of shame in the back of his mind, he makes a decision and grabs a packet of soft tissues from his backpack, keeping his head down even though he knows nobody is there.

Before he enters the bathroom, he checks the time.

2:59 am.

The door to the bathroom, when slammed, causes the trashcan underneath the sink to shudder from the impact.

Zen is done giving any fucks. Literally so done. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about the cold seeping in from the linoleum, the sticky feel of semen against his fingers, or how fucking pathetic he is as he jerks away any semblance of dignity he thought he had.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i definitely shouldn't continue writing this fic it's bad for my soul lmao but it was pretty fun and the writing style is okay. actually this is my first time trying out this type of narration so. thoughts? :)
> 
> I also posted this on my wattpad lol (bc its such trash i was afraid to post it on here lmaoooo). Wattpad: piecrown
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr! Hit me up at @seducingstrawberry if you wanna scream about fandoms, i.e. mystic messenger, voltron, miraculous ladybug, BTS (ahhhhhhhh), yuri on ice, etc. hahahaha shameless self promo aLSo i have an instagram @jufumutu for art and stuffs I'LL STOP
> 
> also....please comment and leave kudos! It really is a big motivator and I'll probably update sooner with the motivation wink wink hehehehe. Thank you so much!!!! ahh


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